Little Man...

Looking at this old photo, I'm flooded with a mix of fondness and a touch of melancholy. It's a snapshot of a time when I was always the smallest kid, a little innocent, and often felt overlooked by the “cooler” kids.

My life in the late '80s and early '90s was a simple rhythm of school, epic Nerf football games, and endless hours on the Nintendo. My dad always said school came first, and given all the certificates we piled up, he was right. I was a tiny student, but a giant in the classroom.

In this picture, I can still name every kid, telling you who was kind and who wasn't, who was mature, and who was still sheltered. I remember the bizarre social hierarchy of school, a strange, fake world where a kid’s worth was measured by their height or social status. And thirty-four years later, I'm just now noticing my shirt collar is sticking out in this photo. How, Sway, how? It’s a hilarious detail, but it speaks to a deeper truth: back then, I was so busy trying to fit in, I didn’t even see myself clearly.

For so long, I wanted to be bigger, to be seen, to matter in the eyes of others. The name-calling—being called a "midget" or "dark"—became a part of my story. It’s funny how I’m still fighting that "darkness" just to be seen, to prove to myself that I'm not the "little man" in the room anymore. It feels like I've spent a lifetime proving that I am enough.

The kids who were ahead of the curve, the ones who seemed more advanced, would look down on us runts. I was never a troubled kid, but I did struggle to mature at the same pace as everyone else. By sixth grade, insecurity had built a permanent residence in my mind, a little vacation home in my heart that I still visit today.

Over the years, I've grown a little taller, a little smarter, and a lot more guarded. I've learned more lessons than I can count. If you aren't learning, are you even living? The biggest lesson, by far, has been this: people’s actions are always louder than their words.

It’s easy for someone to say, "I'll be there for you," but where are they when you need a hand? How can you say you can, if you aren't even present? That’s not being a friend; that’s just being a mouthpiece. My circle is small for a reason—the people in it have shown me through their presence and their actions that they mean what they say.

My goal now is to not waste time. People can be incredibly crafty with their words, telling you exactly what you want to hear. But the art of discernment has transformed me from a short stack of quirkiness into a bigger stack of quirkiness, with one eye on my watch and the other on the actions of those around me.

I'm still not sure when I grew up. Sometimes, I still feel like that late bloomer trying to find my footing. I've had many accomplishments, but here I sit in a quiet room, still wondering how the kid in that picture survived. I owe a massive debt of gratitude to my parents, who sheltered and protected me for as long as they could.

Actions versus words. Little man versus this man. I’m finally paying attention and shedding the old feelings. Maybe one day, I'll be able to stand in a new picture and truly smile, with no crooked collar and no insecurities. Maybe I’ll finally get the picture that I’m not waiting to be noticed anymore, because I've been right here all along.